


Falling

by pins_and_pens



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I just push all my negative feelings onto him, It’s first person, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Pining, Vincent has feelings, bc yes he is baby, but it’s not described in detail so, but mostly - Freeform, he cant express those well, it looks one sided but I promise it’s not, its a lil, its just Scott is a dick, lol, lol sorry bb :(, tbh this is just me expressing my appreciation for Scott, theres mentions of the dirty?, theyre both dicks, wow what a rare occurrence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21734215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pins_and_pens/pseuds/pins_and_pens
Summary: Vincent has fallen. Really, really, really fucking hard.He’s writing it all down.
Relationships: Phone Guy/Purple Guy (Five Nights at Freddy's), Scott Adams/Vincent Bishop
Kudos: 54





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all I’m not that good at fluffy stuff so you can definitely tell there’s some darker themes but it’s about the lightest I get so oop

I used to wonder why they called it falling in love. I never felt like I was falling. Running. Stepping, maybe. But never falling. Always controlled, always in my hands.

I know now, why exactly they chose falling as the verb.

Because when it truly, actually happens? There is no control. It isn’t graceful, you don’t magically sprout wings and land safely on the ground. You plummet towards earth and land on your back, wind knocked out of you for what feels like forever. That can repeat for weeks. 

I fell hard.

Every time I saw him, my breath faltered. I felt like a child all over again. I hated it. Falling in love isn’t this magical experience, it’s pure torture for those like me. Those who like being in control. I hated how I got wide-eyed, flushed and giggly at the mention of even his name. Him being in the same room was agony. I just wanted to tell him how I felt, to pour my heart out in some shitty prose that he wouldn’t understand. Hell, I’d write it in French. Everywhere.

Desks, paper, even orders. Little French phrases written in barely legible cursive, so that no one but me knew what they said.

I did a horrible job at hiding these feelings, too. 

I never had a real outlet for my feelings that wasn’t anger or flirting, so I wasn’t sure how to deal with it at first. Any other encounter I’d had was preceded by my outrageous excuse for flirting, so I thought that would be the best option. Neither was. He hated the flirting, and I would never forgive myself if I got angry with him without reason, so I was left confused and severely uncomfortable in my own skin.

I thought I just wanted sex. I convinced myself that was all I wanted out of him. I almost got it, on several occasions. And when I finally did, I realised I wanted so much  _more._ Something I’d never felt the need for before. A real, healthy relationship. 

Being dumb. Watching movies on the couch together whilst we laugh at things that shouldn’t be laughed at. Laying on the grass looking at the stars. Normal date nights without ulterior motive. Not what I usually got out of a relationship.

I realised I’d have to change quite a bit if I wanted that. And I was prepared to. God, was I prepared to. Anything for him. Whatever he wanted, I’d do it. I was utterly lovesick. And I was fine with that.

He assured me that I didn’t need to change, however. He liked how I was. I, admittedly, thought he was a little crazy for that. Me, a man who shows no shred of emotion on a daily basis unless prompted. I think my least favourite thing about falling in love was that I was a lot more emotional.

Showing genuine concern. Genuine fear, genuine comfort. Things I’d never actually felt before. Things I didn’t want to feel before.

That first night, the first ever time we’d met- or at least, the first time it had registered as being him- I was genuinely concerned for his health. He kept insisting,  _pestering_ , even, that I was being too gentle. And when I explained why I wasn’t doing what he wanted, there was this look he gave me. Half pity, half annoyance. Lips curled just enough to maybe be a smile, maybe not. I found that endearing.

The state he was in was much less stable than he was when we fell in love. I remember most details. I remember a lot of things well. I remember his chapped lips, the way he almost never smiled when talking. The distress in his face when he asked if he could keep his shirt on, the relief it was replaced by when I told him it wasn’t my decision to make, that it was up to him. I got the feeling he wasn’t often treated with such courtesy. I remember the way I could almost feel every bone in his body- I definitely remember how much that upset me. I don’t think I hid my disappointment well, because he looked away for a while. I remember when we were sleeping, or, at least, we were supposed to be, I could hear him. Every shift of his weight woke me up. He didn’t shift often, and when he did it wasn’t for a good reason. I could hear him scratching at his thighs with his bitten down nails, silently working through whatever it was that had him feeling like that.

Above all, I remember his eyes. They were full of life that night, greener than anything I’d ever seen in my life. They shined in any light, like emeralds. And when he looked up at me through his lashes, I felt as if I was being hit by a truck. 

They were so much dimmer when we met again. For what reason, I’d never know. I just looked into his eyes and knew he’d changed. He wasn’t the same person. Not outwardly. Could have been whatever he’d done to himself in that time, or something else. They’re still dim. They get dimmer every time he does that.

They get dimmer, but the colour never changes. Just the attitude associated with them. 

Falling. And I haven’t reached the floor yet. I just keep picking up details about him hoping I’m still suspended. 

When I hit the floor, I don’t know what’ll happen. I guess it’ll end. How, I don’t want to know.

I want to keep falling.


End file.
